


Baby Teeth

by a_taller_tale



Series: Five Reds and a Baby [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Team as Family, Teething
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8813623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: “If you can’t stop it caterwaulin,’ put it outside!” Sarge bellowed. “He doesn’t mean it,” Simmons told Little D. “I mean it!”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place some time after Five Reds and a Baby.

Little D was usually a pretty calm baby. He only cried when meals were late or he was overdue for a nap, which was all Red Team could ask for. But, he'd been fussy all that afternoon, and as the sun set on Chorus and the crickets played their music, Red Team’s baby started screaming and did not stop. 

It had been _hours_ and none of the usual things were working. He refused his bottle, he wouldn’t sleep, Sarge couldn’t even get him to smile. The rest of the team had abandoned Grif and Simmons to deal with it almost immediately. It was 2am now and even though none of them were _helping_ they were _very_ judgmental. 

“If you can’t stop it caterwaulin,’ put it outside!” Sarge bellowed. 

Grif and Simmons looked at each other. 

“He doesn’t mean it,” Simmons told Little D. 

“I mean it!” Sarge yelled back. 

Simmons was almost in tears himself when Donut came out in a fluffy robe and skimpy shorts and slippers in his signature color. He very pointedly put his earmuffs on in front of them before stomping back to bed. 

The only one it didn’t seem to bother was Lopez, and if Simmons didn’t know for a fact that Lopez was just a dumb robot he’d think Lopez was enjoying their suffering. He wished he could turn _his_ ears off. Stupid Lopez. 

Grif was usually the calmer parent. To Simmons' constant irritation, he acted like he had no cares at all. But for some reason whenever Little Dexter started crying Big Dexter started panicking, which was also _very unhelpful Grif_ because Simmons needed at least one of them to be calm or _he_ was gonna panic. Now they were passing the screaming baby around like a hot potato. 

“ _Please kid_ ,” Grif pleaded. “You have to _sleep._ You’ll feel better.” 

Little D whimpered, sucking on his own fingers, before tossing his head back so hard, Grif almost dropped him. He passed the baby back to Simmons, who started bouncing him again. 

“He sounds like he’s in pain,” Simmons noted. “Babies don’t usually start teething until around six months, so he’s a little young for it, but that’s gotta be it.” 

“Teething? I think Sarge has some whiskey we can give him.” 

_“What?!_ That’s an old wives’ tale from TV or something.” 

“Yeah, so?” 

“So it’s not gonna work! And alcohol’s not good for babies, _Grif_!” 

“Maybe I should just get the whiskey for me," Grif grumbled. 

“Ugh, you take him. I’ll find something cold for him to chew on.” Stupid Grif. There really wasn't a lot in Red Base that would be safe for a baby chew toy, so it took Simmons a few minutes of rummaging through the freezer, and his search was interrupted by someone pounding at the base door. 

“Hey assholes. Is your kid dying or something? We can hear it across the canyon!” 

Tucker. 

Simmons hit the door button to see Tucker standing there in full armor. “Mind your own business, Blue.” 

He could read the surprise in Tucker’s body language, and realized he was in sweatpants and a dirty old t-shirt. It might have even been Grif’s. He’d just grabbed something that didn’t have spit up on it this morning. 

“Wow, you look like shit. Why aren’t you in armor?” Tucker asked. 

“It’s 2 am! And Dexter doesn’t like not being able to see people’s faces— I don’t owe you an explanation, Tucker! Why are you in armor, anyway?” 

“Cuz I was coming to Red Base?” He said as if it was obvious. Ridiculous, since he was the one who _claimed_ Red vs. Blue wasn’t a thing, but he did have a paranoid freelancer on his team. A fresh wail from the other room brought their attention back to the problem. "…Did you try feeding it?” 

“OF COURSE WE TRIED FEEDING HIM! That’s always the first thing you try! He’s related to _Grif._ Why are you even here?” 

“I’m just a concerned fellow parent," Tucker said. When Simmons didn't buy it, he continued. “Cuz Grif’s hellspawn woke up Caboose and we’ve all been suffering.” 

“But why are you _here_?” 

“Grif didn’t answer on his channel.” 

Simmons didn’t know they talked. He swallowed down the flare of jealousy. 

Sure they were sort of friends with the Blues now, but they were back on their own teams. Why did Grif need Tucker? He had Simmons. _They_ were best friends! 

“Sometimes if you give them a little raw meat it helps them sleep,” Tucker advised. 

“ _I’m not feeding my baby raw meat!”_

Tucker tilted his head, and Simmons could picture that creeping smirk he got even under his helmet. “… _your_ baby?” 

Simmons slammed the base door shut in Tucker’s face. 

Uhhh, frozen chicken fingers would work for tonight. As long as they watched Dexter to make sure he didn’t try to swallow them. 

When he got back to their room, Grif was singing. 

Simmons froze, watching from the doorway, the bag of frozen food limp in his hand. He didn’t have a bad voice, but he was singing low and soft so he wouldn’t be overheard. He was completely out of tune. 

Little D was chewing on Grif’s finger, looking at him with something like fascination and horror, but his crying was down to a pained whimper since he was distracted by the sound. 

“You’re terrible,” Simmons whispered. 

Grif’s mouth clicked shit, startled. “Thanks a lot, asshole.” 

Dexter immediately started getting restless. “Don’t stop!" Simmons panicked. "You actually got him to shut up!” 

Grif glared at Simmons, but started singing again, even softer than before, like he was self-conscious or something. 

Simmons mostly listened to synth-orchestra, music without vocals was more stimulating for the mind, but he vaguely recognized it as an old American rock song. Grif was still way out of tune. Simmons used to be in band, so he was thinking about taking the risk of Dexter crying again to teach Grif the correct notes and pitch, but Grif jerked his head at the forgotten bag of chicken fingers in his hand. 

Oh, right. 

He ripped it open too enthusiastically, nuggets flying, but he got a good sized one, pulled Grif’s soggy finger out of the baby’s mouth and replaced it with the frozen food. 

Little D blinked up at Simmons, wincing at the cold at first and then gumming at it with more determination. He looked happy for the moment. And he wasn’t making that horrible noise. 

He and Grif breathed out at the same time. Simmons couldn’t not crack a smile back at Grif. He was an _awful_ singer. 

The respite was brief. No one in the canyon got much sleep that night. 

Grif gave him a look of utter hopelessness that Simmons had not seen on his face in all the years they’d served together in the military. “How many teeth are in a human head, Simmons?” 

“Uhh… adults have 32 teeth. Babies only have about 20.” Oh god. They were going to have to go through this at least twenty more times. 

“Fuck." Grif said, watching Little D attack the soggy chicken finger. "We’re gonna have to get some baby orajel or something." 

And that was their mistake, because the last six orders of baby things had gone uncommented on at the capital, but Palomo happened to be in the room in New Armonia when Simmons radioed this one in. 

The lieutenants began their plans immediately. 


End file.
